Chapter Sixty-Three: Five-Pair-Wheel Catapults

Kevin’s catapult currently had only four wheels, but according to Old Turt’s requirements, he needed to add six more, making five pairs of road wheels in total. Such a peculiar demand was difficult for Kevin to comprehend, so he followed his simple principle: if you don’t understand, ask.

Old Turt explained for quite some time, and Kevin grasped the general idea. The gist was that the chassis was crucial to any vehicle, and five pairs of road wheels represented the most advanced technology currently available, offering greater load capacity. The transport vehicles carrying the giant magic staves were all three five-paired road wheel carts, and many heavy equipment carriers used the same configuration. With five pairs of road wheels, the platform could be fitted or modified with all sorts of unusual equipment.

Moreover, five pairs of road wheels made the vehicle better suited for off-road conditions; if one wheel was damaged on the battlefield, six others remained as backup. The advantages were many, though Old Turt’s attempts at explaining this specialized knowledge were rather feeble. Kevin could tell he hadn’t studied it systematically but relied on his years of experience.

Yet, adding six wheels was not as simple as it sounded. The catapult’s wheels were all made of solid wood, thick and heavy, carved from large timber logs, and not available on the market. Springs needed to be installed inside each wheel to prevent situations where uneven ground would lift one wheel and leave three others airborne.

Fortunately, Old Turt was fully capable in this area. He assured Kevin that five pairs of road wheels were a mature technology—money was the only requirement.

Kevin didn’t hesitate; he slipped out of the barracks at midnight and withdrew his thousand gold coins. The general had ordered him to stay within the camp, so he dared not disobey during the day. But the money needed to be retrieved; a little persuasion with the gate guard made it no trouble. At the same time, Kevin sent a letter to the count, explaining his military duties had become too demanding to continue as a tutor, expressing his regret.

With five hundred gold coins in hand, Old Turt acted promptly. The next day, he led several soldiers from the repair shop out of the barracks and returned by dusk with a cartload of goods. Everything was covered with tarps, so others merely assumed the repair shop had received new supplies and asked no questions.

The cart was pulled straight to the vehicle yard before being uncovered. Kevin saw a heap of miscellaneous parts, unsure where Old Turt had sourced them. But considering his age, his connections were surely broader, and his methods more plentiful.

With parts, funds, and personnel in place, everything was ready, and work began immediately. Kevin could offer little help here, and Old Turt mostly directed his men, rarely doing the work himself. In the military, when soldiers assisted other units, it was known as “pulling a detail.” Such arrangements were frequent—if a unit lacked manpower, skill, or motivation, they could call on acquaintances from other units for help, with tasks ranging from kitchen work to cleaning latrines.

But soldiers on these details earned no extra pay. The kitchen might reward you with an apple at best. Kevin, however, paid wages directly, greatly boosting the soldiers’ enthusiasm.

Even so, it took four full days to install the five pairs of road wheels. Old Turt only brought three soldiers; he was an old veteran, though decrepit, it was inappropriate to bring too many. They managed half a wheel per day, and midway discovered much of the original chassis was moldy and rotten.

Kevin had no qualms about replacing and dismantling whatever was necessary. He had nothing else to do, so he resolved to do it well. Though he couldn’t contribute much, he could at least carry items and hand over hammers.

After four days, the five pairs of road wheels were finally installed. On the surface, it looked like six extra wheels had been added, but in reality, nearly the entire chassis was rebuilt. Almost half the wooden frame was replaced; Old Turt remarked that if this were the catapult corps, the vehicle would have gone straight to scrap.

Each wheel received a spring, giving a superior shock-absorption system. They also added a balance adjustment and brake system. In field operations, the terrain is rarely flat—often sloped or uneven. For a catapult to maintain basic accuracy, it needed to be as level as possible.

Ordinary catapults faced such situations by leveling the ground and driving stakes into each corner. During operation, the catapult vibrated violently, and on a slope, not only would accuracy suffer, but the machine might tip over. With the new five pairs of road wheels, these problems were largely resolved.

The height of each wheel and the chassis could be adjusted, so even on uneven ground, the chassis could be forcibly leveled. The larger contact area meant stakes were mostly unnecessary. There were limits, of course—the slope could not exceed ten degrees. If steeper, the ground still had to be leveled.

But with five pairs of road wheels, weight inevitably increased. The three mules would pull slower, but for a catapult, speed was hardly critical and could be tolerated.

With the chassis installed, testing was needed. It was impossible to keep such work a secret within the barracks, so Kevin boldly pulled the catapult chassis around the camp several times. The results were excellent; speed didn’t seem much slower, though the upper equipment had yet to be mounted, so the weight was still light.

Yet the entire army greeted this odd catapult with ridicule. Nobody said anything outright, but their smiles and headshakes were obvious. At this stage, the catapult did look somewhat ridiculous—nothing on top, just a flat cart with five pairs of wheels.

Familiar faces, like Start, came up to ask, “What are you doing? Why so many wheels? Where’s the rest of it?”

Kevin wasn’t sure how to answer. To repeat Old Turt’s explanation would take too long, and he didn’t fully understand it himself. In the end, he could only reply, “Five pairs of road wheels are justice.”

Start: “…”

Ignoring the laughter of others, Kevin moved straight on to repairing the catapult’s upper mechanism. The original machine could no longer be assembled. Old Turt examined it—some parts were usable, but all were very old. Since they were already overhauling, they decided to replace everything.

Old Turt left the barracks again, returning with a catapult arm and frame from who knew where. Kevin was tempted to complain: “Why not just bring back a whole catapult?” But he kept his thoughts to himself. He knew a complete catapult counted as fighting strength; bringing one back would be akin to borrowing or reassigning troops, which was not permitted. Spare parts, however, were exempt, and Old Turt must have had some means to procure them. Kevin didn’t ask further.

A large catapult like Kevin’s generally required ten to twenty men; the current army standard was twelve per machine. There was a captain for overall command, a vice-captain for coordination and to take over if the captain fell, a driver for the three mules, six counterweight handlers to raise the weights, and three loaders ready to supply stone shot in battle.

For normal firing, this many people was somewhat excessive. For example, one loader sufficed, losing a counterweight handler mattered little, and the vice-captain’s role was mostly redundant. But, in truth, more hands made things easier—leveling terrain, extricating wheels from mud, and dealing with illness or injury meant replacements were available. If the enemy drew near, everyone could draw swords and fight.

Thus, the standard crew for a large catapult was twelve, but now Kevin, as captain, had to do everything himself. Over time, he found he could manage, even considered it a worthwhile challenge.

Within a day, the catapult frame and arm were installed, and it could launch stone shot. But for Kevin to operate it solo, a winch needed to be designed—a new invention. Old Turt, experienced as he was, had never attempted such innovation.

Over the next week, Kevin and Old Turt discussed winch designs. Old Turt built a small model catapult, experimenting with winch size, materials, and efficiency. He laughed, “Imagine, I did some research today!”

During this process, Kevin learned a great deal. Old Turt was a frank man; before joining the army, he’d been a carpenter, an expert at repairs. He had a wife and child at home, wished to retire, and had applied for over a decade, but his request was always denied. To keep him from leaving, the army even brought his family to Saka City, so he could see his wife every night.

Still, he longed to retire. At forty-five, he filled idle hours carving wooden figures for his daughter. He showed Kevin several—remarkably lifelike.

Kevin was curious. “They say your exceptional skills are why they won’t let you retire?”

“Do you believe that?” Old Turt smiled.

“Not really,” Kevin replied candidly. “A sixth-rank warrior is impressive, stronger than me, but indispensability must be for other reasons.”

Old Turt laughed, “A bard travels far and wide—hard to fool you. Truth is, without me, the repair shop would be half crippled.”

Kevin nodded, unsurprised.

“A unit can function without anyone,” Old Turt observed, “but if I’m gone, they can’t fix anything. What then? Scrap and buy new—that means money, you see?”

Kevin nodded again.

“Don’t be fooled by our current downtime,” Old Turt sighed. “Every year, during exercises or major events, countless weapons break.”

“Can’t you pass your skills down?” Kevin asked.

Old Turt laughed. “Look at my men—a bunch of fools. Took half a day to mount a wheel.”

The three soldiers were nearby, seemingly used to such remarks, while Kevin felt a bit embarrassed. “It’s not so bad—they’re quite diligent.”

“Useless. Their minds just don’t work,” Old Turt had long since given up hope. “The clever ones go to the combat units. If someone competent ends up here, they get transferred away as soon as it’s noticed. And if the combat units find a fool, they send him straight to us. Sigh!”

Kevin fell silent, understanding the plight of logistics. Most people joined the army hoping for glory; combat units offered more prestige than logistics, so talented individuals sought advancement, and the army concentrated them in fighting units. It made sense, though the Thunder Knight regiment seemed to take it too far.

“That’s the commanders’ policy. I’ve worked here so long, a couple more years won’t matter,” Old Turt shrugged. “Nothing to be done—they’re the bosses.”

“You could retire and then be rehired as a civilian contractor,” Kevin suggested.

“If I could retire, I’d never have come to Saka City,” Old Turt leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Kevin paused, asking offhandedly, “Are your wife and daughter well?”

Old Turt stared at the ceiling for a long time before turning back. “Hey now, don’t get any ideas. They’re just fine.”

“I only asked—no other intention,” Kevin quickly clarified.

Old Turt stood, patting Kevin on the shoulder. “Not bad! Haven’t spoken to someone sharp in ages. You’re so quick, I can hardly keep up. Haha!”

Kevin could only laugh along.

A week later, the winch design was finalized. Old Turt brought in timber and began working himself. By now, his three soldiers could only carry things and hand over hammers, while Kevin was left with nothing to do but watch. Old Turt talked incessantly, explaining as he worked; the soldiers listened, bewildered, while Kevin nodded repeatedly. It seemed the difference was truly one of intellect.

Three days later, the winch was done and, after testing, proved fully functional. Teaching the mules to walk around the winch took some effort, but the experiment went off without a hitch, making the lengthy design process worthwhile.

Next, Kevin proposed another improvement—a chute. Load some stone shot into the chute; the end of the chute would be the catapult arm’s loading basin. Movable partitions could separate the stones, so when the arm was lowered, a stone would roll down under its own weight. After launching, lowering the arm again would push the partition and release the next stone.

In this way, automatic or semi-automatic loading of stone shot was possible, saving Kevin further manpower. Though the mechanism was complex, it was worth a try.

Old Turt readily agreed, and three days later, the five-paired road wheel catapult was essentially finished, operable by a single person. Kevin wasted no time, conducting tests in the barracks immediately.